


beer for breakfast

by darkavengerz (darkavenger)



Category: Marvel, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkavenger/pseuds/darkavengerz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone moves Logan's beer. Logan isn't happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beer for breakfast

There were a lotta folks that’d tell you Scott Summers was a humourless sonuvabitch. Hell, Logan had thought that too, long ago. He’d been wrong. They were all wrong.

“Slim!” he bellows, glaring wrathfully as he waits for Scott’s response.

“Was there by some chance something you wanted, Logan?” Scott asks coolly, stepping into the kitchen moments later. “I’m sure it was something of the utmost importance – an emergency,” he adds glibly, “otherwise you’d have come and found me rather than waking the whole mansion up yelling.” Scott’s face is smooth, that earnest, sincere boyscout impression firmly in place. Damn fraud.

“Don’t test me Summers,” Logan growls, advancing menacingly. Scott’s relaxed stance tells Logan he’s not buying Logan’s threats any more than Logan is buying Scott’s innocent act. They know each other too well, that’s the damn problem, know exactly how to grind each other’s gears. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Some joker put my beer on the top shelf.”  _Out of reach._

“I wonder who could have done that,” Scott says, still straight-faced. “I’ll have a word with the children. I mean,” he adds pointedly, “on the top shelf it  _is_ out of the reach of the children, as opposed to in the fridge.” Scott bloody Summers. Master of the passive-aggressive tactics.

Logan’s always preferred the direct approach. “Look Slim. I know it was you. So get my damn beer down before I pop a claw through your ass.”  _Bad choice of words._ He can tell Scott’s thinking that too, by the quirk of his lips, but for once Scott Summers decides to do the smart thing and not cause any more aggro.

He strides past Logan to the shelf, reaching up effortlessly to snag the pack of beer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says conversationally, as he grabs it, “although maybe our mystery prankster has the right idea. It does seem a little foolish to leave it out where anyone can help themselves.”

“See, Cyke, that’s where you’re wrong, people know not to mess with my beer,” Logan says, then adds, sourly, “Most people. Ones with any sense.”

Scott doesn’t reply, just wordlessly holds the beer out between them. Logan goes to grab it, but Scott doesn’t let go. “What’s the idea?” Logan asks impatiently, “need me to show you my ID?”

“I was waiting for you to thank me,” Scott says, “it’s the polite thing to do, seeing as you fetched me from my bed for this.”

Scott Summers has a damn good poker face – the shades help, of course – but Logan can tell he’s laughing on the inside. He grinds his teeth and jerks the pack out of Scott’s hands. The creases at the corners of Scott’s mouth deepen like he’s trying not to laugh. Scott Summers has a sense of humour, Logan thinks bitterly, it’s just not a very good one.

“Beer’s warm,” Logan says with a grunt of disgust, freeing a beer and popping the tab one-handed, letting the rest of the pack dangle from his other hand while he drinks. It’s hard to tell (damn shades) but he can feel Scott’s focus shift, hear the faint hike in his breathing and change in his scent as Scott watches his throat move, swallowing down the beer. Logan finishes and wipes his mouth on the back on his hand, mouth twisting in faint disgust. “This is why I keep it in the fridge,” he grumbles, “kids can just learn to keep their sticky paws off.”

Scott hmms neutrally, then, surprisingly, reaches out a hand. “Pass.”

Logan’s eyebrows rise. “Little early for you, ain’t it?”

Scott just grins, a flash of white teeth and boyish charm, hand still extended.

“Fine,” Logan shrugs, who is he to judge, and tries to hand Scott back the rest of the pack.

“No,” Scott says, shaking his head, brown hair falling over his forehead. Logan frowns, confused. Scott reaches over and pulls Logan’s can out of his hand, fingers brushing against Logan’s own. “I just want a taste,” he says, still smiling, and it’s impossible to tell, but Logan can feel Scott’s eyes on him as the other man drinks, lips against the same metal Logan’s had touched seconds before. Heat pools in Logan’s belly as Scott swallows and licks his lips, tongue an obscene flash of pink. He goes to hand Logan back his beer.

Logan ignores it, mind on things other than beer. “Is that all you wanted a taste of?” he asks, voice throaty, moving to crowd Scott against the counter, hands placed either side of the other man.

Scott just looks down at him, expression impassive, but Logan can hear his heart rate increase, smell the effect his proximity is having on Scott. Of course, Scott knows this. Jerk’s still smiling like he planned this, and he probably did. That’s Scott Summers. Always got a plan, and always fifteen moves ahead of everyone else.

“I don’t know,” Scott says coyly, “what else are you offering?”

Logan huffs out a breath, sick of Scott’s games. “How about this, for starters?” He reaches up and yanks Scott’s head down and kisses him.

Scott responds instantly, confirmation that this was a set-up from the start. Logan doesn’t have the heart to care. Scott’s hand are on his waist, tugging him closer until their bodies are flush against each other, until Logan can feel Scott hard against him. Logan presses back, deepening the kiss. The inside of Scott’s mouth tastes like beer and toothpaste, an unpleasant combination but Slim’s a good enough kisser that Logan doesn’t mind. Besides, his mouth probably tastes worse, he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. That’s what Cyke gets for springing this on him first thing in the morning.

He breaks away, grabbing Scott. “C’mon.”

“What?” Scott asks, breathless and dazed.

Logan grins. “We’re going back to bed.”


End file.
